


Level up!

by fshep



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Versatile Sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fshep/pseuds/fshep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Stiles introduces Derek to video games and now he won’t stop playing them. Stiles tries to get his boyfriend’s attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Level up!

It starts simple.

"You need a TV, man."

Derek looks up at Stiles from where he's stretched out along the length of his couch, blinking dully. He doesn't seem to agree; he turns onto his side so that his front is pressed against the back cushions. It gives Stiles the opportunity to blatantly ogle his boyfriend's ass, though, so he can't find it in himself to be _too_ offended.

"Seriously. You can only do so much with an outdated laptop and stolen WiFi."  _And there's only so much sex we can have to keep ourselves entertained._

Nothing.

Stiles releases an agitated noise and climbs on top of the other, half-straddling and half- _suffocating_ him. It finally ignites a reaction, but not the one Stiles desires. Derek bars an arm around Stiles' back so that he can do nothing but wiggle around helplessly. He's  _trapped_.

"Asshole," he huffs.

Finally, Derek says, "I don't  _need_ a TV. I won't even use it."

"You say that now," Stiles insists. "And you said that about smartphones, remember?  _All I need a phone to do is make and answer calls_ ," he mocks, offending Derek with his lowered tone.

"My voice isn't that deep."

"That's not the  _point_ , Derek." Even though it's true.  _Scott's_ voice is deeper than Derek's. "The  _point_ is that you now have a smartphone and you even know how to use it." He pats Derek's arm.  _Good boy_ , he almost praises. But he knows better. Still, Derek seems to interpret it that way nonetheless (they've always been good at nonverbal communication) because he squeezes his arm around Stiles, just shy of painful. 

He can't look at Derek to check if he's rolling his eyes, but it's a pretty good bet. "I don't use it as often as most people do. I _know_ I won't use a TV enough to make the purchase worthwhile."

Stiles shakes his head. "Okay, fine. Maybe  _you_ won't, but the pack will.  _I_ will."

"You want me to shell out hundreds of dollars for something that won't even be for me?"

"It'll be  _here_ ," he says, "and that'll compel you to use it. It'll be a bonus for anyone that comes over. Instead of awkwardly standing around and raiding your kitchen—"

"They'll awkwardly pile on my couch  _after_ raiding my kitchen."

Stiles scoffs, attempting to wiggle out of Derek's hold again. He's allowed to slide down between the back of the couch and Derek's chest, which is optimal positioning. "You don't even need to get some huge flat screen. A nice 32'' should work nicely." He rests his head on Derek's chest, listening to his heartbeat. It's even and steady; he can recall a time where movements like this were uneven, stilted—far from comfortable. "I just think it'll liven up the place, if even a little."

He can feel the exact moment that Derek relents. He  _always_ relents, so it's not a surprise when he slides a hand up Stiles' arm and rubs idly at his shoulder, eyes distant and considering. "If I do, it'll have to be a 46'' at least."

\- - - - - - - - - -

There's no  _if_ about it. Stiles takes Derek to Best Buy and they stand in front of the daunting wall of televisions. Daunting for  _Derek_ , anyway. Stiles is at least relatively familiar with the brands and current generation trends.

Derek makes a fuss about smart TVs and 3D TVs. He's not even sure what the former  _does_ but it sounds like something completely unnecessary.

It's not that he hates technology, he keeps insisting to Stiles, but there's a fine line between usefulness and uselessness.

He refuses to even consider purchasing a 3D TV right off the bat. The salesman, however, attempts to pitch the smart TV idea and the only reason Derek listens is because he sounds so genuinely  _excited_ about the product. And he knows what he's talking about. Probably. It's not like Derek could tell the difference either way.

He's not technologically incompetent but it's been a while since he's browsed the market. He doesn't doubt that Stiles and the pack would be able to operate one of them with ease; still, he forgoes both choices and settles on a 46'' LED 1080p TV made by a well-known brand. He figures that the quality will make up for the lack of  _newfangled_ add ons.

Stiles seems to approve. If he doesn't, at least he's not making a fuss, although he keeps picking up cords that Derek would never think to buy. What's the point of an _HDMI_ cable? The hell does  _MHL_ stand for?

Derek stops him from veering into the video games section. It's been nearly a  _decade_ since Derek's paid any attention to games, and the last thing he needs is to stroll through the department and get made fun of for marveling at the updated graphics.

When they get back to the loft, the TV is left uninstalled for the night. Derek is more interested in leaving stubble burn on the insides of Stiles' thighs. Judging by the noises Stiles makes, so is he.

\- - - - - - - - - -

The next time Stiles comes over, he's surprised to see  _Breaking Bad_ playing on Derek's TV. The man in question is asleep, however, always exhausted and looking for moments of solace to steal.

Stiles' mouth twitches and he feels disgustingly fond, sitting at the edge of the couch next to Derek's back. Jesse Pinkman is crying and Walter White is yelling. It's what happens 80% of the time during the series, so he figures Derek won't mind if he flicks the TV off with the nearby remote.

He rests a hand, feather-light, at Derek's elbow and leans in to press his mouth to the nape of Derek's neck. He sighs.

Wanting to give Derek some peace, he retreats to the kitchen, quietly rustling through his cabinets for some kind of after-school sustenance. A couple of months after they started dating, Derek took it upon himself to add a few items to his grocery list that he knows Stiles likes. The first time Stiles opened the freezer to find various kinds of processed pizza in boxes, he'd held Derek's face with both hands and planted an obnoxious, firm kiss on his lips and proclaimed that  _that's it, Derek, once you feed a stray there's no getting rid of them. You're stuck with me._

 _I'm sure I'll live_ , Derek had responded, eyes averted and lips quirked into some semblance of a pleased smile.

Stiles heats up a Hot Pocket, propped up on the counter with his legs swinging in front of him. He spends the duration of the 1 minute and 30 seconds watching Derek snooze away. Then, he trips over himself in an attempt to stop the microwave from shrilling its job completion, but the sound of the door popping open is enough to stir Derek from his slumber.

"You're not as stealthy as you think," he mutters, rolling onto his back. Derek's shirt had been hiked up in his sleep. Stiles' eyes drop to the exposed skin of his stomach.

He turns away, sliding the plate onto the counter and busying himself with cutting it in half to cool. Derek hauls himself up and approaches Stiles. He wraps his arms around Stiles' waist and presses up against him, drowsily resting his face between Stiles' neck and shoulder. Derek is  _illegally_ cute after he wakes up.

"Didn't you just spend an entire day nagging me to get a TV? Why'd you turn it off?"

Never mind. He's still a little bitch.

"You were sleeping! A lot of shit goes down in that show. You won't want to miss it."

Derek hums, not moving.

"At least you're using it," he concedes. "Didn't I say you would?"

A muted grunt. Derek pushes himself away and trudges to the bathroom. 

Stiles smirks, glancing back to watch him go. He resolves to finish the Hot Pocket before Derek comes back. He  _hates_ when Stiles says _I told you so_ and he's looking forward to finding out all of the ways Derek can keep him quiet.

\- - - - - - - - - -

As Stiles had predicted, the pack uses the television whenever he and Derek don't. Pack meetings bleed into the late hours of the night simply because the teens are comfortable, sprawled across one another while they watch movies. Their current phase is superhero flicks. Stiles admits that the latest Marvel movies are better than DC's, including the Batman trilogy, and he sounds ashamed as he does it, like he's instigating a betrayal. Scott pats his shoulder and Derek distracts him by revealing he hasn't seen any of them. 

"Derek, I don't think this is going to work out anymore," he says, wide-eyed. A hand lays delicately over his heart as he leans away from him.

A raised brow is all Derek gives him.

"Okay, no, that's a lie." He settles back down, his side pressed close to Derek's. "But you realize we've got a lot to watch, right? It's a good thing you bought that TV after all."

Scott meets Derek's eyes when he hears the way his heart _still_ skips a beat over the word _we_. Derek shrugs, arm settling over Stiles' shoulders. Scott's smile can't be interpreted as anything but approving.

\- - - - - - - - - -

A couple of weeks later, Stiles decides that Derek's been fully acclimated to a television's presence. But it's not  _enough_. Mind-numbing, visual storytelling is great, but why not introduce Derek to mind-numbing, visual,  _interactive_ storytelling?

After dinner with his dad, he bounds into the loft with his Xbox 360 hanging in his backpack. The shower's running.  _Perfect_. It gives Stiles just enough time to set up the console. _  
_

Derek emerges from the bathroom with wet hair, a tank top, and boxer briefs. He must have sensed Stiles' presence because he doesn't look surprised to see him there. However, his eyebrows dip in, just slightly, at the 360. It's buzzing away like a goddamn helicopter while the title of _Mass Effect_ idles on the screen.

He merely gives Stiles a questioning look.

"Hear me out."

"No."

"Der, come on. If you're afraid of sucking, don't be. I'm not here to judge." He holds up his hands, placating. Derek sits down next to Stiles on the couch, looking at the controller as if it's a bomb. Stiles nudges it toward him carefully, like a peace offering. "I mean it. You know that Scott and I waste  _hours_ playing video games. Kira and Isaac play, too. How cool would it be to have an online pack party?"

Derek picks up the controller. Small victories.

 _He's trying, at least, and that's what matters,_ Stiles tells himself, tucked against Derek while he fumbles his way through the game. He restricts his commentary to the plot and not Derek's skills, which are rusty at best.

Stiles can sit still for only so long; he allows Derek to progress a quarter of the way through, charmed with each decision Derek makes in-game. He solves things amicably, striving to be the  _hero_ of the tale. It's evident that this is the type of person that Derek wants to be.  _He's trying, at least, and that's what matters,_ he repeats.

He takes the controller from Derek's hands, sets it on the table, and crawls into his lap. Derek mumbles something between kisses that sounds a lot like, "At least let me save," and Stiles snickers, grabbing the controller yet again to do it for him. 

Later, when they're lying spent in Derek's bed, Stiles gently rakes his fingers through Derek's hair while he rests his head on Stiles' chest.

"I have finals this week," he says regretfully. "So I can't come over. You gonna survive 'til the weekend, big guy?"

Derek huffs lightly through his nose and dryly mutters,  "I think I can manage."

"Hey, no, you should sound a  _lot_ more put off than that."

"Sorry," he says, not sorry in the least.

He tugs a little at his hair but doesn't resume his act of indignation, dozing off only moments later.

\- - - - - - - - - -

When Stiles pushes into Derek's loft on Friday night, the last thing he expects to see is Derek playing the 360.

He's pleasantly surprised, toeing off his shoes and crossing the room to plop down next to the werewolf, who seems to be engrossed in the story. Stiles' lips begin to quirk, content, until his eyes zero in on the TV.

"Are you—is this  _Mass Effect 3_?" he demands.

Derek gives him a sidelong glance.

"Oh my god. You're halfway through the last game in the trilogy." He watches, awed, as Commander Shepard slips in and out of cover with ease, firing shots like a cinematic masterpiece. Derek catches on  _fast_. Then, affronted, he complains, "I can't believe I just spent the last week stressed out over my future education while you almost beat an entire video game series."

That night, it's harder to pull Derek away from the TV and into bed.

"I could finish this by tomorrow morning," he absolves, and,  _wow._ He sounds too much like himself and Scott.

"And I believe you. But I'm staying over. And I'm  _exhausted_ ," he emphasizes.

"The bed's over there."

Stiles' mouth hangs open, offended. As if he doesn't  _know that_.

He gets up without another word, tossing himself into Derek's bed and petulantly pressing his face against the pillow that smells more like Derek than Stiles. He wasn't lying about being drained beyond belief, but he forces himself to stay awake for a couple more minutes, just to see if Derek's going to join him. When he doesn't, Stiles succumbs to sleep after briefly wondering if introducing Derek to modern past times had been a good idea.

Later, he stirs awake when he feels Derek's weight against the mattress. The loft is quiet and dark.

"Did you beat it?" Stiles murmurs, turning over.

"No." He doesn't elaborate. He does, however, press his lips to Stiles' forehead and slide closer to him.

Stiles expects to wake up the next morning and initiate slow, lazy morning sex, but the space next to him is  _empty_ and he can hear the sounds from the TV playing ever-so softly. He groans into the blanket.

"Stiles?" Derek calls, seemingly concerned.

"Nothing. It's _alllll_ good."

And either he's gotten better at disguising his lies or Derek's ignoring him in favor of the game. What an asshole.

\- - - - - - - - - -

After  _Mass Effect_ , Derek moves onto  _Fallout_. Which is about a thousand times worse because not only is it an RPG, but it's  _expansive_. Far, far too many hours are required to fully enjoy the game.

Stiles had intended on spending the majority of his winter break with Derek, wasting away at his loft without worries of homework and supernatural interference, but after a couple of days he decides to hang out with Scott instead. It's as fun as it always is; they bother Melissa for grocery money and spend it on godawful snacks and soda. Stiles has a drawer in Scott's dresser that contains some of his clothes and toiletries for situations in which he's too lazy to head home just to grab an overnight bag.

Unavoidably, Stiles drops a complaint about Derek's new-found gaming fascination.

"You're the one that enabled it, you know," Scott says, dubious.

"Yeah, I  _know_. I guess I didn't expect him to be so—interested."

"It makes sense that he's playing so much. I doubt he's touched a game since high school."

Stiles shrugs.

"And it's winter. There isn't much to do outside until it warms up..."

"You know what there  _is_ to do  _inside_? Me. He can do me."

"Gross."

Stiles is unfazed. "Seriously, though. Is it weird that I'm kind of jealous? It feels weird. I don't want to be  _that guy_."

"You could talk to him about it," Scott suggests, like  _talking things through_ is something that he and Derek do.

It isn't.

"Maybe," Stiles offers.

He doesn't. 

Instead, he leaves Derek be, deciding to hang out with some of the more responsive members of the pack. He and Isaac go to a movie, he bonds with his dad over sports, and Kira brings over her vintage comic books. He doesn't see Derek until the next pack meeting.

A half an hour after the others have dispersed, Derek hasn't brought up Stiles' absence. Instead, he leans in to kiss at Stiles' neck, soft and slow. Stiles releases a soft breath, pleased.

It's been far too long, he thinks, that he and Derek have been in bed together. He takes his time worshiping Derek's body, slowly but surely causing him to fall apart beneath his hands and mouth. He flips Derek onto his front and fucks into him, which Derek  _loves_ , and he's sure to make the most of it, reminding Derek that orgasms are better than anything he can get out of a video game.

He's confident that he's succeeded, fondly watching the other come down from his high, completely ruined in all of the best ways. He moves to sling an arm around Derek's waist to spoon the shit out of him when Derek pulls out something from beneath his pillow. He flips it open, turns it on, and—

"Is that a 3DS?"

"Yeah."

Derek boots up  _Fire Emblem: Awakening_ , seemingly oblivious to Stiles' fit.

"Did you seriously go out and buy one? _You?_ "

He shakes his head. "It's Kira's. She's letting me borrow it." That's—better, Stiles supposes. Far less mind-blowing. "Is the light going to bother you?"

Despite everything, Stiles can't bring himself to say yes. "Nah. Play to your heart's content."

Derek doesn't hesitate. Turning away from him, Stiles drifts off to the sound of soft clicking and tapping.

\- - - - - - - - - -

He's not sure what causes him to snap. But when he realizes that he only has a week left of winter break, he resolves that he's going to win back Derek's attention by doing whatever it takes.

"I'm going out to the club with the rest of the pack," he tries, halfway out the door. He watches Derek's expression but it remains unchanged. He's working his way through the  _Assassin's Creed_ series, now.

"Okay," he says, because he's a  _good_ boyfriend that, after years of wariness,  _trusts_ Stiles. Clubs aren't Derek's thing and he knows better than to doubt Stiles' loyalty. "I love you," he adds,  _completely_ left-field because that's what Derek does. He'll drop the L-word at the most random and unconventional times and Stiles still can't decipher any sort of rhyme or reason out of it.

Despite that, it makes Stiles' hands clammy and stomach fill with butterflies. Every time.

He grips the doorway. "You too."

The last time he tried to physically pry the controller out of Derek's hands, he ended up on the floor with a sore ass that, unfortunately, had nothing to do with sex. So when Derek asks if Stiles can bring their Chinese takeout to the table in front of the couch, he obliges, if only to see Derek struggle with playing and eating at the same time.

Sometimes, when Derek is playing a game and Stiles tries to kiss him, he'll get irritated by the distraction because it'll cause him to die or get lost. So, one evening, Stiles attempts an  _indirect_ approach.

He stretches out on Derek's bed, lube held close. He's fully naked, lounging with confidence it took years to gather. He isn't sure what game Derek's playing tonight; he'd rushed straight to the bed without so much as a glance in the other's direction.

After coating his fingers, he drops his hand to his entrance. Obviously, this wouldn't be the first time he's done this, so the first finger is far from an intrusion. He lifts a leg and grabs his dick with his other hand, tugging at it absently, and listens for the sounds of the TV. It's still going, which is what Stiles expected, because he's being purposely stealthy for a reason.

By the time he's got three fingers thrusting in and out, he's rolling his hips to the rhythm and whimpering softly. "Derek," he murmurs, slow and sweet.

The TV goes silent.

Stiles smirks, roughly jerking off and moaning unabashedly into the quiet of the loft.

He thinks about counting how long it takes for Derek to join him, but by the time he can decide, Derek's already there. He lifts Stiles' hand away from his dick by his wrist, crawling on top of him. Stiles is pleased that he'd properly estimated the intensity of Derek's sexual drive. He slides his fingers out, breath hitching, and pushes at Derek's shirt instead.

"Off."

Derek moves willingly, tearing off his shirt and slipping out of his sweatpants, too. How efficient.

Stiles pulls him close by grabbing his biceps and Derek kisses him, hot and concentrated. He's prepped and ready to go, so it's a surprise that Derek is taking his time with opening up his mouth and working at the kiss until Stiles is pliant and humming. Stiles reaches down for Derek's cock, coating it with the excess lube on his hand and sliding his grip along the length, his wrist twisting. He guides it to his entrance and slowly fucks himself onto Derek's dick, eliciting soft noises from the both of them.

"C'mon, Derek," he complains. "Fuck me."

And, well. He doesn't have to be told twice. Derek thrusts his hips forward and back, hunching over Stiles. Instead of senselessly fucking into him—which is nothing short of enjoyable—he aims for deep, languid thrusts that steal Stiles' air.

It's almost overwhelming enough for him to beg—to order Derek to move faster and harder—but he can't find his voice.

He slides his arms across Derek's shoulders, holding him close. It's a hug, really, loathe as he is to admit it. His mind whips up the scenario of Derek getting up after their mutual orgasms to return to the 360 and he tightens his grip, mentally willing himself not to come too quickly if only so that he can feel Derek's skin against his own for as long as he can.

He manages to hold out until Derek finishes first, shuddering into Stiles' neck. He gets his hand on Stiles' dick, however, and after watching Derek fall apart he doesn't need much to push him over the edge.

His arms stay stubbornly in place, only allowing Derek to move enough to slide out of Stiles. His heart's thundering and he feels like an idiot for getting so worked up about the situation. Clenching his eyes shut, he presses his face against Derek's hair and counts how long it takes for Derek to leave.

"Stiles?" Derek questions, attempting to lift himself up and get a better look at the other's face. "What's wrong?"

He tenses. "Nothing." But there's no other excuse he can think of, and—

Derek is paying close attention to the way the rhythm of his heart gets jerky and unreliable. "Stiles."

He sniffs.

"Did I hurt you?" Derek asks immediately.

"What? No!" There's not a chance in  _hell_ that he's going to throw an actual fit about this. It's weird. It's not worth it. So, "Can you just lay down with me?"

Derek seems conflicted, like he wants to push the issue. After a noticeable moment of hesitation, he sighs. "Yeah."

He curls his arm around Stiles' waist and presses soft little kisses along the side of his neck. Stiles falls asleep within moments.

\- - - - - - - - - -

After that, Derek goes out of his way to stay as close to Stiles as possible. He's not sure  _what's_ going on with him, but the other night had left him concerned. 

Well. That's not the only thing. Stiles is  _off_ lately.

He keeps dropping and spilling things. It's fine, and Derek doesn't have carpet so it's never a hassle to clean up, but it happens so frequently that Derek wonders if Stiles is getting enough sleep.

 _Then_ he throws himself into the middle of a fight with an omega to wrap an arm around its neck, thus allowing Derek and Scott to close in and immobilize it. Stiles ends up with a dislocated shoulder, which is far, far less worse than the plethora of things that could have happened, but Derek snaps at him nonetheless. They would have easily sustained the omega without any reckless lunges on Stiles' end.

Stiles gets pissed at Derek for treating him like someone fragile. Derek reminds him that he  _is_.

They don't talk to each other for the rest of Stiles' winter break.

It gnaws at Derek the most, he assumes, because he's the one that ends up at Stiles' house on the last day. He uses the front door, granted access by the Sheriff, and climbs the stairs to Stiles' room. He's asleep, lying on his stomach.

He doesn't want to wake him up, so he simply stretches out next to him and curls in. He'd said that Stiles is fragile, but with him, he feels nothing but safe.

\- - - - - - - - - -

Stiles wakes up to a two-hundred pound sleeping werewolf and it's so familiar that, at first, he doesn't question it.

Then, "Derek? What are you doing here?"

He pushes at the other's shoulder and watches him wake up, drowsy and ruffled.

"Hey."

"Hey," Stiles returns, propping his head up with a hand.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Stiles thinks for a brief moment that Derek has finally realized that he's been far too absorbed in playing video games, and he gives him a soft smile, but belatedly, it sinks in that Derek isn't apologizing for  _that_. Because why _should_ he? Stiles shifts, uncomfortable. "You're good, man."

Derek misinterprets the lie. "I mean it. I've been trying to treat you as an equal, and—"

"That's not it," he blurts.

He's rewarded with Derek's look of surprise and confusion.

He presses his face against Derek's chest, groaning. "Can I have my 360 back?"

Derek shrugs. "Sure."

Lifting his eyebrows, Stiles echoes, "Sure? Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"You aren't... Are you—? You won't go into withdrawals if I take it away from you?"

Derek snorts. "No." Then, after a pause, he says, "What does this have to do with—?"

And that's when he realizes. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, huffing.

"Is this why you've been acting so weird lately?"

Stiles stubbornly keeps his mouth shut. It's an answer enough for Derek.

"I thought—you wanted me to play."

Oh no. Stiles sits up so he can meet Derek's eyes. "I do! I mean, I did. I figured you'd play every once in a while? Not... obsessively."

Derek gives him a look. "Obsessively," he echoes flatly. "Stiles, I had a lot of catching up to do. Once I played all of your games, I'd have more... in common with the rest of the pack. Maybe I wouldn't seem so... outdated," he muses. "You were the one that said it'd help with pack bonding, right? That's the only reason I agreed to try. And they ended up being a lot of fun. I figured you'd be happy I was playing."

This is exactly why Stiles didn't want to make it an issue. Now he feels  _guilty_.

"I am. Everyone thinks it's really cool. It sounds stupid, because I see you pretty much daily, but I miss spending time with you.  _You_. Not—" He flaps his hands around. _  
_

When he looks at Derek, he finds him  _smiling_. Smirking, even.

That's a terrible sign.

"I can't believe you're jealous of a _gaming console_."

Stiles scoffs, flipping away from Derek. "Fuck you. That's the last time _I_ express my feelings."

Derek scoots close, planting a kiss on his shoulder. "I thought something else was going on. I was worried."

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters. But he can't find it in himself to be  _too_ mad, because Derek's cuddling close and tangling their legs together while the sun flickers through his bedroom window. "You're lucky you're cute."

The sound of Derek's breathy laugh is just enough to diffuse his agitation. They lay in silence for a couple of moments, buzzing with contentment.  "I noticed you only had  _Dead Space_  1 and 2," Derek says. Stiles freezes. Is this really happening. "So I bought the third. There's co-op. I was thinking we could play together?"

And, well. Fuck. How the  _hell_ did Stiles not consider co-op as an option? It's the best of both worlds.

"Definitely," he assures, chest fluttering. Derek presses a smile into his skin.


End file.
